Avengers word prompt drabbles
by Tapix
Summary: A series of drabbles based off of some really cool words I found. Some will be connected to each other, but most will just be various ships. Will probably range from 100-1000 words, depending.
1. Cheiloproclitic

so i found a bunch of words and i made stories out of them

yaaaaay

(some of these will be connected and some will not)

Pairing - SteveTony

* * *

**Cheiloproclitic** - Being attracted to someone's lips.

A heavy clomp of boots on the metal floor of the lab prompts Tony to look up from the screens he's working on.

"Where's Mr. Banner?" Steve asks, looking around as if expecting Bruce to pop out from behind one of the machines.

"Went to go get some grub," Tony replies nonchalantly. "Even gamma men need their food." He taps something out on the computer, then turns to Steve. "Whaddya need, Cap? Some antifreeze?"

Steve looks at him blankly, then answers, "No, I just wanted to check up on your progress. We need to find that cube." He leans against one of the tables gingerly, afraid that he'll break it. Satisfied that his body weight will hold, he crosses his arms and stares around the lab, looking anywhere but Tony.

Tony, however, looks straight at the Captain, at his face. He takes in the fine facial features, the bright blue eyes, the plush lips set in a frown. Wow, those are some really nice lips. Tony gets a sudden impulse to touch them, to claim them, to make those beautiful lips his. He steps forward unconsciously, still staring at Steve's mouth, not really sure what he's doing; this is Steve, his father's little boytoy, the experiment that took up all of Howard Stark's focus, even forty years after he was gone. He stands in front of Steve, almost glaring at his lips now, like they did something to offend him (and they did; he didn't want to be attracted to Steve, didn't need the attraction, no, not right now).

"Mister Stark?" Steve inquires, a confused look upon his face. Tony is starting to freak him out.

"No, you just… stay right there, stay there," Tony mumbles, almost to himself. He tries to reign himself in, to keep him from doing something so insanely stupid that Howard Stark would feel the repercussions, but he can't stop something he's started, and he leans forward, and then he presses his lips against Steve's ridiculously enticing ones –

Tony jumps back. "Sorry, sorry, so sorry," he murmurs, flustered and confused with himself, not used to losing his cool around others, used to the impulses to do things like that _but not with his teammate oh god oh my god _and he hurries out of the room, leaving Steve to stand there in a state of shock, not really sure how to react to what just happened.


	2. Apodyopis

Pairing - LokiTony

* * *

**Apodyopis** -The act of mentally undressing someone.

Tony leans against the counter, drink in hand, staring the enemy right in the face. He takes a sip of the liquid clasped in his palm, feeling the burn as the alcohol slides down his throat, and returns to staring. Loki looks hot under all those clothes, he thinks, and wonders how in hell one would take off such a ridiculous outfit. As far as he knows, Loki just magics his clothes on and off. Tony idly wonders if he could learn how to do that.

He has to distract Loki with his words, he knows, and begins to speak, to threaten with the prospect of the Avengers and their various assets, but his heart isn't really in it, and neither is his brain. His mind is too caught up in figuring out the mechanics of taking off Loki's clothing, unclipping the straps securing his shoulder pads and letting them fall to the floor, removing the armor, allowing it to clatter noisily on the ground. The coat would be thrown haphazardly away, the leather jerkin dropped from his shoulders, Tony's hands working frantically at the buttons on his shirt, finally being able to touch his chest, no doubt beautiful and pale and sculpted—

His reverie is interrupted by Loki attempting to take control of his mind. _Damn, and it was just getting good._ This always seemed to happen to him, and he curses his luck as he is roughly defenestrated…


	3. Tarantism

hahA i meant to post this a while ago w/e

this is sorta connected to the first chapter (chieloproclitic) so

yeah

Pairing: BruceThor

* * *

**Tarantism** - The urge to overcome melancholy by dancing.

Thor sighs into his coffee as he sits, chin in hand, at the table inside the mess hall of the Helicarrier. Ever since he arrived on Earth, he's been sitting in a state of sorrow, unable to shake the image of his brother standing over others, trying to gain power that was not his to gain. He looks at the caffeinated drink sadly, wondering how it had come to this. Where had he gone wrong?

He shakes his head. This is his brother's choice, not his. Something must have happened, though when Loki fell from the Bifrost; he was different, he was changed, fragile, like someone ripped him apart and put him back together all wrong, using only the pieces they liked. His brother was not the same, he knew, but he hoped that he could somehow find those missing pieces and reassemble Loki back into what he once was.

He looks up as someone enters the hall. "Friend Banner," he rumbles.

"Thor, hi," Bruce says, grabbing something from the counter and sitting down in the seat across from Thor, setting his pack on the ground.

"I am not the best company at the moment, I am afraid." Thor looks back into his mug, studying its contents.

"What's wrong?" Bruce asks, taking in for the first time Thor's disheveled appearance. He frowns. "You're, ah, taking this all pretty hard, aren't you." It wasn't a question.

Thor just grunts and takes another sip of his beverage. Bruce doesn't speak for a few moments, and Thor realizes he's waiting for a response. "I am not sure one could take this news any better," he sighs. "It is quite a crushing blow. I would rather not discuss it."

"You should," Bruce responded. "Discuss it, I mean. Don't keep things bottled up. You might… explode." One corner of his mouth quirks upward as he says these last words.

"I suppose you would know that, wouldn't you," Thor chuckles half-heartedly. He lets out a heaving sign again, and speaks. "Imagine the one you're closest to, your lifelong partner, the one who your whole life helped you with all of your woes, the one you spent your life helping, protecting, loving. Imagine that they are torn away from you in an unfortunate affair, and you think them dead for what seems like such a long time. Imagine finding out they are still alive, traveling across space only to find they are plotting to take your favorite world for their own, that they have become evil beyond reason." His voice is steadily rising, becoming more and more intense. "Imagine that you must fight him again, you must go against everything you know and destroy what you love most –"

There is a smashing noise as Thor's mug shatters under his grip, spilling warm liquid all over his hand and embedding cheap porcelain in his palm. He curses and goes to pull the shards out of his skin when he feels a hand stop his arm.

"Let me," Bruce says, a deeply pitying look in his eyes. He reaches into his pack, pulling out a first aid kit. From it he retrieves a pair of tweezers and a roll of gauze. He grabs Thor's hand with roughened fingers and pulls the sharp pieces from his palm. Unrolling a length of the gauze, he cuts the end and bandages Thor's hand. "I know you probably heal faster than most, but that should staunch the bleeding," Bruce murmurs, hands lingering a second too long on Thor's. He pulls back after a moment, flashing a weak smile in the direction of the god, and puts his supplies back in his bag.

"…thank you," Thor says, resisting the urge to rub at his hand. It stings a little, but nothing serious. "For listening to my ramblings, also. I know it is hard to…" He trails off.

"It's no problem," Bruce responds. He sits there for a minute, lost in thought, then looks up suddenly, like he's had an idea. "You know what I like to do when I get down," he says, and stands up, shouldering his bag. "Come on, I learned a good pick-me-up technique while staying in India." He grabs Thor by the arm, not really waiting for an answer, and pulls him away from the mess hall, toward their private chambers. Thor looks at him questioningly, but allows himself to be led away, trusting Doctor Banner to know what to do.

Bruce takes him to a wide common area and closes the door. He pulls out a laptop from his bag (Thor wonders vaguely how much stuff he managed to fit in the thing; it's tiny) and places it on a table, opening it and clicking around for a few minutes. Thor stands there awkwardly, waiting for Bruce to finish. After a short while, Bruce straightens up.

"Friend Banner, what is—" Thor is cut off by the sound of music suddenly coming from the laptop speakers. Bruce turns to him and hold out his hand for Thor to take. Thor does, albeit nervously, unsure of what is going on.

"I find," Bruce says, guiding Thor to the center of the room, "that when you're down, you just need to… move. To shake things up a bit, rattle your thoughts back into place." He starts swaying to the music, a lilting symphonic waltz, and Thor finds himself copying him. Almost unconsciously, he places his fingertips on the scientist's slim waist. He glances at Bruce as if to make sure that this was okay, and Bruce nods, placing his own hands on Thor's shoulders. They settle into a graceful waltz, moving around the room with ease. All too soon, the song ends… only to be replaced by a faster, more modern-sounding song, with electric guitar accompanied by strings.

"Ah, a lively tune!" Thor moves to break from Bruce's hold, but the scientist pulls him into a twirl, leaving him slightly dizzy.

"Come on," Bruce yells, grinning, "I know a good dance to go with this one!" They switch positions, and Bruce is leading, and Thor is losing himself in the dance, and he finds himself smiling from ear to ear as the songs become faster and louder. Soon they're dancing like nobody's watching, and nobody is watching, it's just them, lost in the cacophony sweeping them up and jarring their minds.

The playlist slowly winds down, and the two men find themselves back where they started, with a slower piece, allowing them to settle back in each others' arms. They are significantly closer this time, with Thor resting his hands fully on Bruce's hips and pulling him tightly against his body. The closeness doesn't seem to be something they're consciously aware of, merely something they need. Bruce rests his head against Thor's broad chest and listens to his breathing as they sway back and forth. Thor looks down at him in surprise, and then smiles softly.

"I feared the excitement would become too much for you," Thor rumbled, "during the quick jigs. You seem to have dealt with it well, however." Bruce smirked into his shirt.

"What kind of person would I be if I couldn't dance to fast music?" He tilted his head up to look at the Thunder God's face. "Even I need some speed in my life sometimes." Glancing around, he added, "Just not the kind that speeds my heartrate."

Thor chuckled warmly, causing a deep vibration run through the both of them. It is then that they notice the music stopped quite a while ago, leaving them standing in each others' arms, for no other reason than enjoying the closeness. There is a sudden tension in the room with this realization, and both of them freeze up, not sure that to do. _Why am I becoming affected like this? Oh god should I let go? These feelings, where do they hail from? Oh no my heartrate, this tension isn't good for me, I—_

Neither really knows who makes the first move, but their lips connect and all thoughts leave their heads. Bruce makes a soft noise and moves his hands up from Thor's shoulders to his hair, making fists in the tangled strands, and Thor tightens his hold on Bruce's waist. He winds his arms upward, grabbing Bruce's shoulders in a desperate attempt to pull him closer. Their kisses, calm at first, grow increasingly frantic and sloppy, both relishing the feel of each others' stubble on their faces and the roughness of their lips colliding. They remain entwined, grasping at each other like there would be no tomorrow, until Bruce pulls away, panting. He falls backward, clutching at a table for balance and knocking it over instead. "Oh god," he grunts, and collapses onto the floor. Thor rushes to his side.

"Banner! Are you alright?" He sits down at Bruce's side and places a hand on his shoulder. Bruce breathes quickly, trying to calm himself down. Without a second thought, Thor pulls Bruce into a bear hug, crushing the doctor's face into his large chest. "You will get through this." He feels Bruce's pounding heartbeat slow down slowly, and smiles. "See, I told you," he says, releasing Bruce from the crushing embrace. "You can do it."

Bruce, glasses askew, hair sticking up in random places, looks at him uncertainly, and then smiles back. "Yes, I guess I can." He places a small kiss on Thor's cheek, and settles into his arms, comfortable to just lie on the floor for a while and enjoy the company. "And please, call me Bruce."

Tony is walking through the corridors of the sleeping chambers, trying to cool his head, when he hears music.

Following the sound, he is led to a closed door, which he cracks open slowly, peeking through the opening. He blinks in astonishment at the sight… Thor and Bruce dancing? This is really weird, even for this aircraft. He contemplates barging in on then, but figures that Bruce probably wouldn't take too kindly to that… or maybe that's the point?

Quite suddenly, he realizes that the music has stopped, but they're still holding each other. _Okay, this is getting pretty gay. _He makes a small noise of astonishment as they start eating each others' faces. _Scratch that – it _is _pretty gay._

_Kind of like your feelings for the Captain, _a small voice says in the back of his mind.

_Shut up, _he tells it.

A crash from the inside of the room makes him jump and almost blow his cover, but a glance through the door tells him that they didn't notice the rather loud thump the wood made as his face smacked into it. Cradling his nose, he peers inside again and watches as Thor hugs Bruce, trying to calm him.

_Well if the rage monster can calm himself enough to face his feelings, then so can I. _Tony slowly stands up, and hurries away down the hall as fast as he can. He'd better go check on the Tesseract search anyway, he rationalizes. Nope, this speed doesn't have anything to do with Steve at all.

Autolatry -The worship of one's self.

Cagamosis - An unhappy marriage.

_Drip. Drip. Drip._

The noise echoed throughout the cavern. Loki on the stone slab, presumably unconscious, bound by the entrails of his son.

_Drip. Drip. Drip._

A woman dressed in rags standing over him, holding a bowl over his face, collecting the poison.

_Drip. Drip. Drip._

High above, a snake coiled around a stalactite, mouth open, dropping the liquid down.

_Drip. Drip. Drip._

A low chuckle.

Do you ever wonder, Sigyn, how it ended like this?" A hiss from a scarred mouth. "What has our marriage become?" A sad grin playing across chapped lips. "What did we do to deserve this?"

_Drip. Drip. Splash._

She wanders away, to the edge of the platform, to empty the bowl, and Loki writhes in agony as the poison seeps into his eyes. Screeches of pain join the steady drip in its task to fill the cave with sound. She walks back and holds up the bowl again.

Loki's cries turn into sobs, and then to whimpers, and then to occasional flinches. He grits his teeth and forces his next words out, painfully, angrily. "Why could we not live?"

_Drip. Drip. Drip._

The woman looks sadly on, not saying a word.

Gargalesthesia- The sensation caused by tickling.

Capernoited - Slightly intoxicated or tipsy.

Lalochezia - The use of abusive language to relieve stress or ease pain.

Cataglottism- Kissing with tongue.

Basorexia - An overwhelming desire to kiss.

Brontide - The low rumbling of distant thunder.

Loki sat at the kitchen table, twiddling a fork between his fingers. It had been two years since the Allfather had banished him to Earth, forcing him to live for a mortal lifespan as one of the humans he so wished to rule. His hair was curly and blonde now (a sacrifice he still cringed at sometimes when he looked in the mirror), and he didn't go by Loki. It would draw too much attention. No, his somewhat empty apartment was owned by one Tom Hiddleston, a name he had drawn through a random generator on the internet.

He forked a pile of spaghetti into his mouth and looked at the clock. It was 7 pm and a Friday and he had absolutely nothing to do for once. But what does one do to entertain themselves around here? He had been living in this area of London for two years and still knew close to nothing about it.

Sighing through his nose, Loki picked up his plate and deposited it in the sink. He wandered into the living room and collapsed onto the couch. Just as he pressed the power button on the television remote, a low peal of thunder rumbled through the air. He glanced up sharply and dropped the remote on the cushion beside him in his haste to rush over to the window. He stared out the glass, gripping the wooden sill with a force that would have crushed it had he still had his godly strength. His eyes widened at the huge thunderhead approaching. _It couldn't be._

There was another low rumble, and a smile played across Loki's lips.

_He's coming._

Grapholagnia - The urge to stare at obscene pictures.

Natasha sat on a chair next to the sickbed, fiddling with her gun, taking comfort in the smooth metal. She sat there, lost in thought. A groan from the bed made her look up sharply. Clint was coming 'round.

She stood up and laid her hand on his. "It's okay, you're gonna be okay," she murmured as he shook his head violently. "You've got this, Clint." He grunted, possibly in response, and shook his head a few more times. He blinked fiercely, as if trying to dispel tears, and clenched his fists under the restraints.

Agelast - A person who never laughs.

Wanweird - An unhappy fate.

Dystopia - Am imaginary place of total misery. A metaphor for hell.

Petrichor- The smell of dry rain on the ground.

Anagapesis - The feeling when one no longer loves someone they once did.

Loki sat in his dank cell, chin in hand, watching the sun set through the window.

It wasn't a window he could escape from; though it looked like simple bars to the untrained eye, it was simply cleverly disguised. In reality, the opening was covered in enchanted glass, to keep anyone from going in or out. Thor had doubted it until he hit the barrier, and went away from the place with a severely burned hand.

Thor. Loki had sworn he wouldn't think about that infuriating man any longer, and yet here he was, allowing the name to flit through his mind like any other. He snorted in disgust. Thor. The golden prince of Asgard, the warrior, the everlasting object of everyone's affections. The object of Loki's affections, some more than brotherly, for so long. But no longer.

Loki could remember how it felt, when he first realized he was attracted to all genders, and how liberating a feeling it was! Able to pursue anyone that caught his attention, though many turned him down simply for who he was, more interested in Thor. And then Thor caught his attention too, one day in the training ring, and Loki felt as though all his freedom had left him and he was instead in chains, dragged around by the man he called his brother. He could remember the box that closed around him, suffocating him, as Thor won his affections again and again and the panic increased and rose around him like water in his box of shame and guilt. For who would accept a prince, a normally very unaccepted prince anyway, who was in love with his very own brother?

And so he allowed the box to remain, and crafted a lock of steel to seal himself inside, and threw away the key. There he remained, and the rising waters of shame and guilt were joined by the ever-present jealousy and fear (of being found out or of himself, he knew not) and eventually, hatred. The life-raft that was love drifted farther and farther away. And he sat inside, planning and plotting and causing Thor's downfall.

Then suddenly the box broke. All the feelings spilled out that day on the bridge. He gave in to them and fell (as punishment, as a reminder that nothing can be kept away forever). And the love-raft became a speck on the horizon.

When next he saw his brother, he could no longer see the lifesaver. The waters had closed around his head, and he had drowned.

And now he was back in Asgard, watching the sun sink below the horizon just as his life-raft had, and he felt a distinct freedom, from the box, from Thor, from everything.

The sun was setting, and so was his love.

Malapert - Clever in manners of speech.

Duende - Unusual power to attract or charm.

Concilliabule - A secret meeting of people who are hatching a plot.

Strikhedonia - The pleasure of being able to say "to hell with it".

Lygerastia - The condition of one who is only amorous when the lights are out.

Ayurnamat- The philosophy that there is no point in worrying about events that cannot be changed.

Sphallolalia - Flirtatious talk that leads nowhere.

Baisemain - A kiss on the hand.

Druxy - Something which looks good on the outside, but is actually rotten inside.

Mamihlapinatapei - The look between two people in which each loves the other but is too afraid to make the first move.

**Age-otori **– To look worse after a haircut.

**Sgriob** – The itchiness that overcomes the upper lip just before taking a sip of whisky.

**Pochemuchka** – One who asks too many questions.

**Tingo** – To borrow objects one by one from a neighbor's house until there is nothing left.

**Gigil** – The urge to squeeze something unbearably cute.

**Waldeinsamkeit** – The feeling of being alone in the woods.

**Déjà vu** - An experience of having seen or experienced a new situation previously.

**Deja Vecu** - When one thinks they are having a déjà vu, with great detail and a feeling of knowing what happens next.

**Deja senti** – Having already felt something before.

**Deja Visite** – An unexplained knowledge of a new place.

**Jamais Vu** – A familiar situation that one does not recognize, often considered to be the opposite phenomenon of déjà vu.

**Presque Vu** - When one is ready to say something but their brain gets stuck and it does not come out.

**L'esprit de l'escalier **- When a smart thought comes when it is too late.

**Capgras Delusion** - When a person believes that a close friend or a family member has been replaced with an identically looking one.

**Fregoli Delusion** - Believing that different people are the same person in various disguises.

**Prosopagnosia** – When one is unable to recognize faces of people or objects they know.

**Quiescent** - A quiet, soft-spoken soul.

**Chimerical** - Merely imaginary; fanciful.

**Susurrus **- A whispering or rustling sound.

**Raconteur** - One who excels in story-telling.

**Clinquant** - Glittering; tinsel-like.

**Aubade** - A song greeting the dawn.

**Ephemeral** - Lasting a very short time.

**Sempiternal **- Everlasting; eternal.

**Euphonious **- Pleasing; sweet in sound.

**Billet-doux** - A love letter.

**Redamancy** - Act of loving in return.

**Cafune – **Running your fingers through your lover's hair.

The night was quiet and still. Inside the bedchambers of the elder son of Odin, the scent of sex still hung in the air, blanketing its two occupants in a layer of pheromones. Thor gazed down at the top of his brother's head lovingly, running his fingers through his hair. It was slightly tangled – he hadn't washed it in a day, never mind brushed it – and he gently pulled the tangles out, trying not to wake Loki. He was obviously exhausted, with visible bags under his eyes, and looked so very comfortable atop Thor's chest.

Thor chuckled quietly to himself, marveling at the fact that he had just lain with his younger brother, but moreso at the fact that he didn't care, that it felt right. He continued feeling Loki's soft hair, petting it gently, and almost felt like a kid again, seeking his brother for comfort from nightmares. He smiled serenely and closed his eyes, leaving a palm resting atop his younger sibling's head. He slept contentedly, knowing that he would never have to want from afar again. He had Loki now. His Loki.

**Aischrolatry – **The worship of smut or porn.

Acosmist - One who believes that nothing exists.

Paralian - A person who lives near the sea.

Aureate - Pertaining to the fancy or flowery words used by poets.

Dwale - To wander about deliriously.

Sabaism - The worship of stars.

Dysphoria - An unwell feeling.

Eumoirous - Happiness due to being honest and wholesome.

Mimp - To speak in a prissy manner, usually with pursed lips.


	4. Wanweird

this is two-in-one angst because both fit the prompt and theyre sorta mirrored companions

yeah

Pairing: ThorLoki (if you wish)

* * *

**Wanweird** - An unhappy fate.

"I don't miss you… brother…"

The words slipped out before he could stop them, handcuff them, force them back down his throat. But they were true – he didn't miss Thor, he didn't.

Lying had never been this hard. And he was doing it to himself, for Odin's sake.

He stared down at the broken body below him, lying among the shattered glass and twisted frame of the cage meant for the Hulk. The corpse was in good condition, no doubt because of its godly status, but the man within the body was (probably, hopefully, unfortunately) gone.

He won't be dead forever, Loki told himself, and again found it hard to lie.

Thor – or his body, anyway – was face-down, his tattered cape flapping in the wind like a red flag, or perhaps a taunt, riling the bull up to charge. A hysterical laugh escaped the trickster's lips as he considered this simile. Unconsciously, he hopped down from his perch atop the rock outcropping and made his way down to his brother's remains.

He came to a standstill five feet from Thor's body, not quite ready to let his guard down just yet – it could be an elaborate trick, one that was admittedly out of Thor's usual thought range, but men can learn from their mistakes. Only after thoroughly probing the body with magic to determine that yes, Thor was actually dead, did he sidle up next to the caped figure.

He stood over Thor, then, and expected to feel triumph, victory, a sense of finally having won, having power over his brother, but instead he felt nothing but indifference and a low, pulsing sorrow, one that matched with the beating of his icy heart. After a few moments, he bent down and unfastened the cape from around his brother's shoulders and held it up in front of him, examining its ruined fabric with a hard look. He swung it around his thin shoulders after a minute and held it around his body like he would when they were younger, when he had nightmares and crawled into Thor's bed and became enveloped in his brother's warm embrace, except the cape was already growing cold, and the smell of Thor was quickly getting blown away by the breeze. Loki fought to stay on his feet, stay upright, because he _wanted_ this, he was the one who _did _this—

He was the one who did this.

"I have won, brother." His voice barely trembled.

_I have lost everything._

__..::on the opposite side of the spectrum::..

_No._

That was the first thought that came to Thor's mind as he stared down at the body of his younger brother.

_No. No, this isn't happening._

He walked slowly towards the body, as if moving through a haze, and stumbled over himself.

_No. It's not true._

He knelt by the body.

_No. This is a dream._

He placed a hand on his brother's pale face.

_It has to be._

"Wake up, Loki," he murmurs softly. "Wake up. This is not amusing." He steadily ignored the blood soaking his brother's clothes, the hole in the leather torn and still oozing red. "Wake up. Wake up… wake up!" He said, his voice rising. He placed his hands around Loki's head, fingers threading through his hair. "Wake up!" he roared, his breathe stirring the loose hair around Loki's temples. "Wake UP, you are not allowed to LIE there, unmoving, you are not allowed to LEAVE! WAKE UP!" His voice broke, and he sobbed, pulling at Loki's hair, mussing it and leaving strands hanging across his face. Collapsing to the ground, Thor hefted his brother against his chest and cried, harder than he ever had. Grabbing Loki's still-bloodied hand, he roughly placed it over his own, unable to do anything else but enjoy the slight embrace after death, the fall of the cold hand creating a grip of sorts. He pushed his face into Loki's hair, making it stick to his face from the tears, and continually ran a hand over his brother's head, just like he used to when they were kids. Before this. Thor screamed his pain through the city's rubble, not caring who heard, wanting them to know that his little brother was gone, and it was all his fault, and oh, he would do anything to get him back, anything. He hollered until his voice gave out, and even then, the tears continued, silently, unyielding.

Broken.


End file.
